Loosing Faith
by madaboutcarla
Summary: Carla, taking a closer look
1. Chapter 1

**Set nowish/ next few weeks. Chapters will be short, but hopefully frequent :) Reviews loved x**

A half finished box of green tea. Miserable. She pushes it aside, only to find the cupboards bare. She curses silently, her words no longer free to flow. The young boy is sitting at the table, glowering over a bowl of uneaten cornflakes. Closing the cupboard, she sighs regretfully. She catches Simon's eye, the hate in his eyes so obvious, his little mouth tight and strained. She swallows, and finds her throat is parched and sore, causing her to cough, breaking the ever icy silence. She turns her back to the boy, so her face can fall free of it's simpering constraints. Who's she fooling. Not him. He's old beyond his years. Unnerving really. He knows the smile on her face is as real as the 'Gucci' handbag on Kylie Platt's shoulder.

He smiles. His eyes are kind, and warm, but they are no longer happy. They mask weeks of pent up tension, strain, the cracks becoming ever more palpable. He kisses her cheek, the pressure of his lips against her skin so faint it's almost non existent. 'I'll see you later than love, keep going, don't let him win' he says, his words pretty much the same as they were yesterday, and the day before.

Alone in the flat, Carla wondered what to do. She didn't have to leave for work for another half hour. She wasn't in a hurry to. Each day was a step, Peter told her. It didn't feel that way. It was a compromise. She hated it just as much as the day before, but she'd sworn he wouldn't take her baby from her. He couldn't get away with stealing her body, turning her friends against her, lying his way through the courts and take away the object that had caused her so much pain, yet harboured memories she couldn't bare to let go of.

Her new life, suffocated her. Remnants of last nights unfinished dinner clung to cheap, white plates piled high in the shallow sink, unintentionally yet accurately reflecting her state of mind. The garish wall paper, in nauseating shades of salmon and peach and beige, boxing her in making her feel like she was a character in some contrived children's book. She hated the fact she could see the entire flat from one vantage point, no mystery. It was all there, a two bedroom family home. No unexpected surprises, no frills. Plain and simple. And so not her.


	2. Chapter 2

Tick, tick, tick. His eyes, small and narrow, linger observantly over the rim of the mug he is drinking out, his hand, the one he used to beat her with as she lay petrified on the floor in a foetal position, curled tightly round the body of the mug. They are watching her, flickering over form. Studying her. Boring into her, recklessly teasing her attention away. Her chest tightens as she inhales, her lungs expanding and pressing against her protective ribs, pushing their way out her body, driving him away from her. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, his steady surveying whittling away her composure, leaving a whisper of the women she once was.

Banal tasks. Sifting through orders, amending contracts, phoning potential tasks; all part of the job. No longer. All part of her personal struggle to survive. Her hand on her mouth, a pathetic shield, her breathe is cut short, heavy lids close over exhausted eyes, eyes that had seen more than they should have. Hair falls over her face, ebony stands buckling where her neck curves into her shoulders.

It festers deep within her. A desire she is struggling to fight. Her whole body craves it. Her throat aches for the bottled slumber inducing spirit, creeping down her jugular. Her stomach cries out for the comfortable burning sensation, pleasurable pain, for she knows what follows. Her brain pines for the inability to function, the lack of feeling, the disconnection; the capability to forget.


	3. Chapter 3

Their voices hum, continuously around her, she feels trapped, like a pathetic fly in a spiders web, unable to free herself, as she tosses and fights to extricate herself, she realises her movements are ineffective. That's what she is, pathetic. She can't distinguish their individual words, but she can decipher their judgemental, analytical tone, picking apart her physical being, or at the least the one she allows the view, from afar. She finds little comfort, in the momentary sting that snagging her nail against her soft flesh brings. She looks up; several faces coming into focus, their heads bowed almost in remorse. It's enough to ignite the anger, the anger she suppresses just beneath her cool, icy, calm demeanour. Expelling pent up rage and pain brings her a faint rush of exhilaration, she holds a semblance of the power she's so known for once again.

And then reality hits her, as it does so often these days. He's behind her, his slimy form lurking in the shadows, his stance, disconcerting. Those little beady eyes, having seen so much of her, and always wanting more. Head, cocked to the side, a smile that wears a flicker or admiration, and an overwhelming stench of smugness.

The promise of a tight hug, heavily scented with soft fumes of tobacco and his musky cologne just isn't enough. The vow that he'd be there for her no matter what, bringing with him lips that could offer both soft kisses, and utter tender words just didn't cut it.. Hands that swore to worship her body, attend to every last inch of skin, leaving nowhere untouched; couldn't quite get her through it. They should be, but they didn't. . They managed to, before, when precious minds hadn't clocked on to the adulterous behaviour of the backstreet bookie and the raven haired factory boss.

But something can. Something that shouldn't. A bottle of dutch courage, surpassed the love, the sex and the bond they had. It was her downfall. Their downfall. Nothing beat the bottle. Well, one thing could maybe, but it was something that was no longer tangible, cruelly taken from her, plucked from the selfless arms of love. He'd consumed her, haunted her thoughts and weathered her tear ducts away for so long. Left her sobbing in a heap on the floor, screaming into the ghostly night, beating at unbeatable doors. And he was never coming back. Not ever.


	4. Chapter 4

Intoxicated; it's delicate arms winding around her body, her conscious loosing it's grip handing control over to the glass in her hand. As her fractured anguish subsides, her dreams, delusional chimeras are granted freedom, they flourish and proliferate, taking advantage of the way the mental guard she puts up erodes so readily as she poisons herself, glass by glass.

She is alone; technically. Submerged in an ocean of forbidden wishes, memories. She is powerless to her own needs, usually starving herself of revisiting those bittersweet memories, she can no longer push them away, the floodgates have been opened, and she ceases to hold them back. The current is strong, memories, impossible fantasies surge forward, her composure is challenged, she can feel herself crumbling against the force of these nostalgic thoughts.

She relishes in her own ability to project this strong, levelled person who doesn't let others bring her crashing to the ground, with petty gossip and uninformed judgement. The sad truth is she's living a lie. She has been for so long. She cares more than she will care to admit. Peter knows that, he's known it since the day they were so shamelessly brought together. He sees what many don't, behind that facade there is a women who is reaching out, desperately, for love. Those eyes are a brilliant masquerade, they sparkle and seduce; they hide a broken soul.

But then there is, was Liam. He never needed to try and understand her. He just did, his soul was in tune with hers, a perfect unison. When they walked, side by side, the shadows they cast would merge into one stronger being. But it wasn't to be, she wasn't allowed to love him, nor he love her. It was like a tragic love story and it would haunt her for eternity, a ghostly, irreplaceable and constant reminder of what she could have, should have had, flitting in and out of her thoughts, each and every day.

She closed her heavy eyelids, and there he was. She could see him so clearly, he had to be real. The gentle curve of his jaw, dotted with dark stubble, plush lips inviting her to kiss them, his beautiful, kind eyes, such a subtle shade of blue, oh they way they looked at her, looked at the person behind the perfect 'grid' and loved her for it.

'Don't go Leebugs, please don't leave me' she says aimlessly. Her words are slurred and roll off her tongue in a haphazard manner. She laughs at her own self pity, but laughter deftly turns into weak sobs, giving way to an uncontrollable bawling that she can not halt. Tears flow from pent up pain, she curses silently; her prayers that the pain will leave her body like the tears, go unanswered.


End file.
